


Time To Play

by HPTrio



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPTrio/pseuds/HPTrio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things that happen to witches who mess with time are not always horrible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time To Play

**Author's Note:**

> If this particular pairing is not your personal cup of tea, please keep checking under my user name. I plan to archive all my work here and, while everything I've written is in the Harry Potter fandom, I write several different pairings; het, slash and multi.

Hermione knew it was wrong; she knew this was not one of those situations in which repeating certain hours was unavoidably necessary. At least, it would not qualify as one of those situations in the eyes of Headmistress McGonagall, who’d granted her the use of the Time Turner for her final year at Hogwarts. It was, however, unavoidably necessary in Hermione’s eyes based on what she’d inadvertently witnessed earlier that evening.

  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione’s shoulders ached as she made her way to the Prefects’ Bathroom, paying no attention to her surroundings. She’d been so excited after the mayhem of the previous year – the one that _should_ have been her last, but was instead sacrificed in favor of Horcrux hunting with her two best friends so that one of them might succeed in his quest to kill an evil wizard – to learn that a great majority of the students in her class were being invited back to repeat their seventh year without the threat of a Dark Lord hanging over their heads. Her joy was short-lived, however, when her desire to make the most of this last chance at a proper magical education by taking extra lessons had driven her boyfriend, Ron, back into the arms of his former girlfriend.

After her longest class day of the week (one that made use of the Time Turner to repeat hours so that she could fit in an almost staggering number of additional courses), followed by her rounds of the corridors and an overly-long Prefects’ meeting, all Hermione really wanted was some solitude and a long soak in the luxurious tub that awaited her in the Prefects’ Bath. As she made her way into the lavishly appointed changing area to deposit her robe and school uniform, she could almost smell the scented bubble bath that ran automatically along with the hot water from nearly a hundred jeweled taps surrounding the tub. It wasn’t until she sat on the bench to unlace her shoes that she heard the sound, a distinct moan coming from the direction of the bathing area. 

Hermione grabbed her wand and crept silently toward the unexpected sound. It was well past curfew and no one should be out of his or her house at that hour except the Prefects. Since Hermione had come directly from the meeting, she knew it was not possible for any of the others to already be in the beckoning pool.

It was difficult for Hermione to see anything at first as she cautiously inched her head into the open space underneath the archway, which lead into the bathing chamber. The room was filled with an almost-pink steam and an enticing scent wafted in pleasing waves around her. She would have sworn it was candy apples if she’d been in the Muggle world, and Hermione lost herself for a moment in fond memories of childhood carnival visits with her parents.

She barely stifled her gasp when another sound, this one something between a pleasurable moan and an almost agonized cry, drew her attention to the steps leading down into the pool. Hermione stood there, wide-eyed, with one hand clamped firmly over her mouth for almost a full minute before she regained the presence of mind to duck out of sight so she could observe from a more secluded location. She never considered for even a second that she should leave and come back later.

Harry Potter – a gloriously naked Harry Potter – was sprawled across the steps to the pool. His head and his upper body rested against the flowing marble robe worn by a beautiful white statute that Hermione had been told during her first year as a Prefect was of Wilhemena, a water nymph who stood tirelessly by the edge of the pool pouring essential oils from an ornate pitcher into the water for moisturizing the skin of all those who bathed there. Of course, Hermione had also heard the whispered comments mingled with barely-concealed snorts of laughter about what use some of the older boys found for those essential oils. Looking at Harry, she wondered if those comments might be true.

Harry’s dark hair was damp from the bath and fanned out against the white marble pillow of the statue’s robes, giving him a more debauched look than his usual unruly locks. His green eyes were closed and his cheeks were flushed a rosy shade of pink, but whether from the steam or from arousal, Hermione could only guess. Harry’s lips were parted slightly, almost formed to make an “oh” sound, which caused the bottom one to pout invitingly as if it were a delicate morsel waiting to be sucked into someone’s hungry mouth. Another soft sound startled Hermione, and she blushed when she realized it was her own whimper as she watched Harry’s tongue dart out to lick the sweat from his upper lip.

More than just Harry’s upper lip glistened with a sheen of sweat. Hermione watched transfixed as a bead of clear liquid slipped from just behind his earlobe down the column of his throat to pool in the little hollow just above Harry’s collarbone. Hermione marveled at the definition in Harry’s broad shoulders and muscular pecs as their natural contours reflected the light from the candle-filled chandelier hanging above the room. Dark hairs danced across Harry’s chest from one taut, dusky nipple to the other, then drew Hermione’s eye downward in a fine line leading to a delicious swirl around his belly button. The view almost made her dizzy as she followed that treasure trail of hairs onward to the surface of the shimmering water just below Harry’s navel.

“Damn you, Ronald Weasley!” Hermione fumed to herself as she stared at her best mate. “Why did you have to pick _this week_ to go running back to Lavender?” She could feel the moisture soaking into her knickers and it would have been nice to have someone to satisfy the need building inside her.

Harry half-growled, then began hissing in what Hermione quickly recognized as Parseltongue. She was riveted to the sight before her. Harry had sucked his lower lip between his teeth and was biting down so hard that a tiny drop of blood was welling, the bright red making a spectacular contrast against the soft pink of his abused flesh. But it was the movement of his arms, tensing and flexing as he pulled, fast and steady, on his shaft that commanded Hermione’s undivided attention to focus on the task quite literally at hand. Harry’s right hand was wrapped snuggly around his cock, and with each downward stroke, his hips canted up to shove his needy erection through his fist, pushing it above the waterline and fully into Hermione’s hungry view.

In a way it seemed like it happened in slow motion; Harry’s lower body would emerge from the bubbly water, and Hermione could see for a moment that his left hand massaged his balls as one finger strayed out of sight, possibly teasing at his entrance. She could see the tension in his thighs and the expression of intense concentration on his face as he thrust into his hand, and she licked her own lips as a bit of pearly fluid escaped from his slit as it peeked between thumb and forefinger.

In reality, it didn’t take nearly long enough. Just three sharp thrusts upward, then a look of surprise crossed Harry’s face as his orgasm took him with unexpected force. He gasped out the word “fuck” and was coming, ropes of thick, white spunk spraying from the head of his cock high into the air, only to land with a splat on his heaving chest as he struggled to control his erratic breathing whilst covering his eyes with his forearm.

Hermione practically bolted from her hidden vantage point and sprinted back toward her room in Gryffindor Tower.

  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione now stood outside the fourth door to the left of the statute of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Her hand shook slightly as she lifted the small, silver hourglass attached to the chain around her neck. She took a deep breath and gave the powerful magical device a single turn; thinking that really should be enough. She closed her eyes and waited a moment before exhaling harshly, then she whispered the password to the door and made her way inside.

The room, as Hermione had hoped, was empty. A single flip of the Time Turner had sent her back an hour, making it around twenty minutes past curfew, almost guaranteeing her privacy since all the other Prefects would be in their meeting. This time Hermione entered the bathing chamber and walked along the length of the large rectangular tub until she was almost perfectly in line with the steps leading down into the inviting water. There was a recess in the wall just behind a picture of a rather flirtatious mermaid. Moaning Myrtle had once told her there had been a passageway there leading to the school laundry and thereby providing a shortcut for the house-elves tasked with restocking the never-ending supply of fluffy white towels that sat in one corner of the room. The passageway collapsed during Myrtle’s fourth year at the school and was never rebuilt since house-elves are among the few who can actually Apparate within the walls of Hogwarts. 

Hermione knew the recessed area would make an ideal haven for her since she didn’t imagine Harry would look in that direction because of the mermaid. She’d once overheard him and Ron talking about how difficult it was to undress in the Prefects’ Bath when the mermaid – or Merlin forbid, Moaning Myrtle - was in a voyeuristic mood. Hermione snickered as it occurred to her that the ghost’s nickname may have come from something other than her penchant for complaining over having died in a loo.

Hermione settled herself comfortably on the floor of the hidden passageway to await Harry’s arrival, quickly coming to a bold decision as she recalled the event that lead her to her present location. She pushed herself to her feet and disrobed, making a neat pile of her clothing on the shiny floor. She sank back into her original position, barely having time to register the coldness of the white marble against her uncovered skin as Harry strode into view.

Harry walked around the perimeter of the giant tub, carefully studying each of the golden taps as if contemplating what the color of the jewel set into each handle might represent in the scent world. Hermione couldn’t actually see what Harry selected, but he spun three handles and soon the aroma of candy apples filled the air. Hermione inhaled deeply, knowing that smell would never remind her of carnivals and her parents again. She would always think of Harry, wet and beautifully naked, whenever she encountered that fragrance in the future. 

Harry stood at the side of the tub and stretched, reaching high toward the ceiling then bending at the waist and extending his fingers toward his toes. He straightened, then toed off his trainers and hopped awkwardly on each foot for a moment as he pulled the sock from his other. He grasped the hem of his t-shirt and quickly pulled it over his head, tousling his hair and knocking his glasses askew. Harry dropped the shirt on top of the disorganized pile of trainers and socks, and then righted his glasses before reaching for his belt. Hermione held her breath, noticing for the first time that her naked skin felt flushed; no longer cold from the marble beneath her bare bum.

Harry snatched his belt from its loops effortlessly and dropped it into the growing pile at the side of the tub, then thumbed the button through the hole on the front of his jeans. Hermione bit down on her lip, although not hard enough to draw blood, as Harry lowered his zipper and swiftly pushed his jeans down his thighs along with his pants.

“Sweet Merlin!” thought Hermione as she gazed at Harry’s dimpled arse while he stepped out of his jeans. It was seriously a thing of beauty. Then Harry turned, walking directly toward Hermione and it was all she could do to stop herself from going into an outright panic. Her eyes glazed over, partly out of the fear of discovery, but mostly from the mesmerizing way Harry’s flaccid cock swung from side to side as he walked. It was almost as if it were chanting “come and get me, come and get me.” Hermione was a little stunned when she realized how much she wanted to do _exactly_ that, but she forced herself to remain completely still as her best friend neared her hiding place. Relief washed over her as Harry’s course shifted slightly, angling him toward the corner, and she realized he’d merely been going to collect a fluffy towel from the huge pile. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione’s academic nature filed away the observation that Harry was circumcised, unusual in the UK, but exactly the sort of thing those damnable Muggle relatives of Harry’s would have done just to torture him for existing.

Harry returned to the edge of the tub and dropped the towel onto his pile of clothing, then carelessly tossed his glasses onto the mound and dove head first into the steamy water. Hermione’s posture straightened, waiting anxiously for him to return to the surface. When he did, he swam a couple laps in the fragrant pool then wandlessly summoned a flannel. He scrubbed the cloth over his face, and then began to wash himself starting at his shoulders and working his way methodically downward. When he deemed himself sufficiently clean, Harry stuck his head unceremoniously under the nearest tap and lathered his hair. He dove under the surface of the water again, apparently to rinse out most of the make-shift shampoo, then finished with a more thorough rinse under the one tap that always ran clear water. He shook his head to rid his hair of the excess water, thus explaining the spikey, debauched look Hermione had noticed on her original venture into the opulent bath.

Harry seated himself comfortably on the steps of the tub and leaned back against the statue of Wilhemena, closing his eyes and sighing softly. Hermione wondered what he was thinking of, or perhaps who, since Ginny had attached herself to Neville while they led the resistance at the castle together during the previous year. She had worried how Harry might react when he heard the news not long after Voldemort had fallen, but he’d soldiered on bravely as if losing Ginny didn’t matter.

After a moment, a faint smile tugged at the corners of Harry’s mouth and he squirmed a bit on the marble steps before raising a hand to tease his own nipples. Hermione watched in fascination, her thighs falling open of their own accord. Without even thinking about it, she was soon mimicking Harry’s actions, brushing a thumb across her nipples then pinching them as they hardened, and sending a spark of arousal deep into her belly. She chewed her bottom lip to keep from moaning audibly.

Harry’s hands dropped below the surface of the water, and although Hermione couldn’t actually see what he was doing, the movement of his upper arms suggested he was simply massaging the muscles across his abdomen and along each thigh, probably helping himself to relax. Hermione gave herself the same treatment while she waited for a more visual show.

Soon one of Harry’s hands returned above the water to tweak a nipple and the muscle in his other arm tensed. Slowly the water surrounding Harry’s body began to lap rhythmically at the edge of the tub and Hermione knew that he was touching himself, stroking his cock which would, by now, be hard and long and thick. Hermione’s hand dropped between her thighs and she absently ran a finger through her slippery folds.

Harry’s breathing quickened as the movement of his arm sped up. The hand tweaking his nipple once again dropped beneath the water. Hermione smiled as Harry’s knees appeared above the water; she couldn’t see, but she imagined that Harry was either fondling his sac or perhaps even – no, Harry wouldn’t like _that_ sort of thing - would he?

Hermione pressed two fingers into her slickened channel as she watched, picturing Harry’s actions in her mind from the brief glimpse she’d enjoyed earlier. By now his cock would be purpling with the need to come and he’d squeeze the base and tug at his balls, desperate to hold off just a little longer, prolonging his pleasure. She couldn’t stifle her moan when Harry’s hand emerged suddenly and reached up, cupping his palm to catch some of the essential oil spilling from Wilhemena’s pitcher. Luckily, Harry was so lost in the sensations he was creating in his own body that he didn’t notice the sound.

Harry’s hand disappeared again and when Hermione saw him wince slightly, she knew instinctively that he’d pushed a finger, maybe two, into his hole. The idea of a Harry so sexually needy that he was fucking himself on his own fingers while he wanked made Hermione wonder why she’d wasted all those weeks alone with him in a tent last year without jumping him. She felt the muscles in her stomach tense, signaling her own release was approaching as she thrust the fingers of one hand in and out of herself rapidly whilst frantically rubbing at her swollen clit with the fingers of her other hand; her eyes never leaving Harry’s body. She imagined that the fingers inside her were her friend’s cock, knowing he would drive deeper and push her over the edge so much sooner than she could herself.

All at once, Harry’s lips parted slightly, almost puckered as if about to kiss a lover or to make an “oh” sound, and Hermione recognized his perfect pout as the point at which she’d come in the first time. His bottom lip beckoned invitingly as if it were a delectable morsel waiting to melt in someone’s mouth. Hermione jumped at the sound of her own whimper, even knowing she had done it before as she watched Harry’s tongue dart out to lick the sweat from his upper lip.

Harry’s whole body practically glowed from the heat of his arousal and Hermione watched, transfixed yet again as a drop of sweat ran from just behind his earlobe down the column of his throat to pool in the little hollow just above Harry’s collarbone. Hermione yearned to lap it up with her tongue.

Hermione studied the definition in Harry’s broad shoulders and muscular pecs as their natural contours reflected the light from the candle-filled chandelier hanging above the room. The combination of Quidditch and Defense training had been good to Harry, leaving him quite fit once he finally grew from scrawny kid into a fully-grown wizard.

Hermione’s eyes once again followed the dark hairs that danced across Harry’s chest from one taut, dusky nipple to the other, before flowing downward in a fine line leading to that oh-so-delicious swirl around his belly button. She silently cursed the water in the tub because it was hiding what she really wanted to see.

Harry half-growled and from her closer vantage point, Hermione recognized that the sound deteriorated into the word “fuck” before Harry began to hiss in Parseltongue. Instead of automatically scolding him for his language, she found that coming from a naked Harry, the naughty word only served to turn her on more. She glanced down to where her fingers still invaded and teased her body and she could see the moisture glistening in her curls; she could hear the sucking and squishing sounds her fingers made as they thrust in and out of her at a near-frantic pace. 

She stared openly as Harry sucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down so hard he drew blood. Hermione wanted to taste it. The movement of his arm sped up, tensing and flexing as he pulled on his cock. She anxiously waited for the moment when his hips canted up to shove his needy erection through his fist, pushing it above the waterline and fully into her hungry view.

Hermione resisted the urge to cast Petrificus Totalis on an upward thrust, freezing Harry’s body in place above the bubbly water so that she might impale herself upon it. Instead she watched jealously as his left hand massaged his balls. From this angle, she could actually see where one of Harry’s fingers disappeared into his hole. Harry’s thighs were tense and his face was a mask of pleasurably intense concentration as he thrust almost desperately into his hand. Hermione licked her lips as a bit of pearly fluid oozed onto the head of Harry’s cock where it emerged between thumb and forefinger and she thought about taking him into her mouth; taking his length down her throat.

Just three sharp thrusts upward and Harry was coming. He gasped out the word “fuck” again as he erupted without warning, spraying thick, white fluid high into the air before splattering against his heaving chest. Hermione bit into the fleshy part of her hand between thumb and forefinger as her own orgasm took her over the edge with Harry, and together they struggled to regain control of their breathing.

Hermione waited nervously for Harry to emerge from the bath, a fresh twinge of desire assaulting her as he finally pushed to his feet and picked up his glasses and clothes before turning to leave. His spent cock nestled limply in his dark thatch of hair, nicely framed by the swollen bollocks behind it. Ever the researcher, Hermione wondered if all wizards’ testicles were as large and full as Harry’s or if he was simply blessed in that area. Mentally she tried to compare him to her few fumbling experiences with Ron before they broke up, but she couldn’t actually recall seeing Ron’s bits in a post-orgasmic state, although rationally she was certain she had. She concluded they must not have seemed above average in size; otherwise, she would have remembered.

When Hermione heard the thud of the door leading out of the bath, followed only by silence, she abandoned her hiding place and grabbed one of the fluffy white towels for herself before heading directly to the spot on the steps that Harry had occupied. She imagined that his scent lingered there, musky and masculine, tinged with sex. She closed her eyes, breathing him in and losing herself in the memory, idly wondering if it would be physically harmful to Harry if she twisted back time for one more show. Again she allowed her thighs to fall open, exposing her dripping center. How could she possibly still be aroused after coming so hard watching Harry bring himself off?

“I know you were watching me.” Harry’s voice echoed in the marble room and Hermione’s eyes snapped open. “I saw your reflection in the mirror; you were naked and touching yourself. That’s what made me come.”

Harry stood at the far end of the huge tub, still naked and once again stroking his rock-hard shaft slowly with his eyes focused directly between Hermione’s legs. Abruptly he dove into the water, surfacing just in front of his flustered friend.

“I know you liked watching me, but I think we can do better together,” Harry said softly, then leaned in for a gentle kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I truly hope you've enjoyed my work, and I'd really love to know what you think. If you have a moment to spare, please leave a comment. Compliments are always welcome, but constructive feedback is appreciated as well.


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